


Unspoken

by murron



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Established, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:57:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murron/pseuds/murron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Far better for each of them to deal with the terror's aftermath in private. [Tag for <i>Common Ground</i>]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers for season 3, episode 7, _Common Ground_**  
> Standard disclaimers apply

Radek kicks him out of the lab at nine p.m. Rodney makes a show of protesting, but in truth he's glad to be off. Coffee's run out and he's dead tired.

He's managed to spend the evening on his own, unfettered by any company whatsoever. Neither Ronon nor Teyla have come to see him and he's grateful for it. He's done his best to avoid his team. To stay out of John's way in particular. Anything else would've been too awkward. Far better for each of them to deal with the terror's aftermath in private. John wouldn't appreciate him hanging around anyway.

The façade they keep is welcome cover today. No one wonders when he leaves the infirmary as soon as possible. He grabs a sandwich, retreats to his lab and stays there. It's a deliberate retreat, a chance to wait until the day's agitation blows over. Besides, work helps him unwind. He stares at city schematics, logs and circuits until he can hardly keep his eyes open. Finally, Radek snaps the lid of his laptop shut and points at the door.

At least his brain is fatigued enough so that falling asleep should be easy. Rodney heads down empty corridors, yawning repeatedly until he reaches his quarters. The door slides open and he walks into his room, surprised to find the lights on. Strange. He's sure he switched them off this morning. Rodney frowns and steps further into the room. One look at his bed solves the mystery.

John has curled up on the sheets, looking like a piece of jetsam washed up on the wide mattress. He's still wearing his day clothes, BDUs, black shirt, only his boots are off. He seems to be fast asleep.

Rodney's stares, shakes his head and gives up. So much for healthy avoidance.

He moves to the bedside, picks up a quilt and spreads it over John. When he leans forward to pull the blanket up to John's chin, John breathes in sharply and turns his head. For a moment, Rodney's petrified, hand glued to the quilt where the warmth of John's shoulder radiates through the flannel.

John squints at him. "Come to bed?"

"In a minute."

As John burrows his face back into the pillow, Rodney detours into the tiny bathroom. He makes a quick job of brushing his teeth and washing up. He looks at his face in the mirror, at the matted hair and bloodshot eyes. Not what he'd call a spring version of himself.

What is John doing here? Rodney would've bet he would prefer to be alone after what happened. In the past, John has stayed away after bad missions. There's no reason today should be different. One thing's for sure, John didn't take well to the others witnessing his torture. He had hardly looked Elizabeth in the eye, after. Then again, he isn't meeting anyone's eye at the moment. He's just sleeping.

In Rodney's bed.

Of all places.

There are so many unknowns it gives Rodney a headache. He has no idea what to offer . . . comfort, discretion, sex? Is this one of the things they won't talk about? He decides he's too exhausted to puzzle it out. Coherence, tomorrow. If necessary.

He strips off everything save his boxers, then puts on one of the t-shirts he uses for sleeping. After a second's hesitation, he pulls another shirt and a pair of jersey bottoms from the laundry pile.

When he returns to the main room, John has managed to wrap himself into the quilt three times over. With nothing but his hair sticking out, he's got all the looks of a cocooned caterpillar. Now this is a familiar sight. Rodney sighs. In the end, sharing a bed isn't half as romantic as it's advertised. John always hogs the covers. Rodney sprawls, using about two thirds of the bed, and getting complaints about it the next morning. If there's a next morning to begin with. Most times Rodney wakes to an empty bed, the blankets he lacked during the night tucked around him.

John never makes a sound, leaving.

Rodney hunches down beside the bed and touches John's shoulder.

"Take off your clothes."

John winces and rubs at his eyes. "Let me guess," he mumbles. "Seduction 101, not your subject."

"Feeble," Rodney comments and puts down the spare clothes within John's reach.

John shrugs. "I'm whacked."

"I can tell." He waits for John to change, then crawls under the blanket next to him. He flaps a hand in direction of the nearest control panel and the room goes dark. As soon as the lights are out, John turns around, rests his head on Rodney's shoulder and a hand on his stomach. Rodney's surprised, but John pressed to his side is far from unpleasant. It's not exactly typical behaviour, but then, it's been an unusual day.

_Unusual. Way to phrase it._

Rodney hesitates another second, then wraps his arms around John. This close, he can smell a waft of fabric softener and the shower gel John used. It's an odd mix, the scent and solid shape of John inside Rodney's own clothes. He imagines his t-shirt hugging John's sides, absorbing the warmth of his skin. The idea is strangely intimate.

Thoughts drifting, Rodney traces John's shoulder blade with his thumb, feeling the sharp edge under the cotton. John's all angles, tense muscle, with ribs too prominent for Rodney's taste. He's also warm, his belly soft against Rodney's hip. His back rises and falls peacefully with each breath. Rodney tilts his head until his cheek touches the tips of John's hair. The memory of grey whiskers hovers at the edge of his mind. In the meantime, John's quiet in the circle of his arms, relaxed. His breathing has taken on the slow rhythm of sleep.

Rodney moves carefully. He slips a hand under John's elbow, tracking the shape of John's flank and the subtle hollow of his waist. He's afraid to wake John, but once he starts, he can't stop. Just a little more. He'll go to sleep any minute. He needs to make sure, is all. Rodney sets his hand to John's neck and rakes gentle fingers up through his hair. John's body is familiar territory but tonight each touch is laced with incredulity. It's almost as if Rodney can't quite convince himself that John is real.

Does he feel different? He can't say. He doesn't think so.

Rodney's managed to ignore the pang in the pit of his stomach all day. Here in the dark, it's stronger, more insistent. Panic rises bitter in his mouth as the images he has fought to suppress defeat him. Suddenly John can't be close enough, alive enough for him to be at ease. Rodney's hand clenches hard around John's biceps before he can stop himself. At this, John shifts, showing he's not asleep after all.

Rodney freezes. He expects John to pull away. Growl at him to be still already. He doesn't. Instead, he moves his arm until it's draped across Rodney's chest.

Rodney flinches, tension twisting his muscles. His heart thuds against the weight of John's forearm as he grapples for composure and fails. That moment, it feels like he's never left the control room. Part of him is still watching the video message. Part of him still believes John is lost, dead in some underground bunker Rodney just can't find.

_Couldn't find you. Didn't reach you in time._

Rodney closes his eyes, kisses John's forehead. He tightens his embrace, squeezing too hard maybe, but John responds in kind. He clings like he's afraid one of them might fade, grabbing a fistful of Rodney's shirt and twisting it.

John's back. He's safe. It's taken Rodney up until now to believe it and still he has to repeat the words. John's closeness, the reality and response of his body assure him in a way reason never could. So he holds on, strokes John's biceps until the tension eases under his palm._****_

_**end  
Beta by**_: auburnnothenna &amp; enname


End file.
